"Really!" says Vee. "How funny!"
"It's part of the plot," says I. "Tell the Professor to spread himself on the eatings, and have the rooms all fixed up slick."
Vee says she will. And she does. MacGregor falls for it, too. You should have seen him after dinner, leanin' back comfortable in our biggest chair, sippin' his coffee, and puffin' one of Old Hickory's special perfectos that I'd begged for the occasion.
And still I didn't let on. What I'm after is to have him spring the proposition on me. Just before he's ready to go, too, he does.
"I say," says he casual, "this isn't such a bad hole you have here."
"Perfectly rotten," says I.
"Then we might make a trade," says he. "What?"
"There's no tellin'," says I. "You mean a swap, as things stand?"
"That's it," says he. "I'm no hand for moving rubbish about."
"Me either," says I. "But if you mean business, suppose you drop in to-morrow at the office, about ten-thirty, and talk it over."